The White Wolf and the Darkspawn
by Argonaut57
Summary: Defending a remote village against a Darkspawn attack, Duncan the Grey Warden receives unexpected aid in the shape of two warriors named Ser Elric and Ser Moonglum. But is the strange albino with the howling black sword an apostate mage, or something else, something unknown?


**The White Wolf and the Darkspawn**

**Chapter One: Grey and White**

_It is incorrect to say that the Multiverse is a series of static planes, lying alongside each other. Neither is it entirely true to view it as a mass of tangled cords. It is more of a state of mind, a perception, a way of looking at things. And the more we focus on that part of it we can perceive, the further away the rest of it goes. Which is fine, but there are still some things – places, people, objects, phenomena – which if approached in the right, or the wrong, way, can cause a shift of perspective._

_Log of the Argonaut_

It had been a long pursuit, and the two fugitives and their horses were weary. Those who pursued them knew the land better, and had taken faster, easier routes. So now the fugitives were surrounded. They scanned the ring of soldiers hemming them in. Soon it would begin to close like a noose. For now, though, there was one apparent gap. An oddly isolated area of blue mist that swirled and curled around some invisible centre, but did not move or spread. The soldiers, it should be noted, gave the mist a sensible berth.

It seemed the fugitives were arguing. The taller of the two was gesturing toward the mist, the other seemed to demur. Finally the taller turned and rode for the mist. The other, with an air of amused resignation, followed. Some of the soldiers made a move to cut them off, only to be called back sharply by their commander.

Within a few yards of the mist, the fugitives' horses became unmanageable, shying and bucking. The two men dismounted and, with one final look around, ran into the blue mist. The soldiers waited for a few minutes, then at the orders of their captains, formed up and rode away. More than a few of them were laughing as they went.

_So this is how it ends_. Duncan thought. _Before it really begins!_ The veteran Grey Warden looked at his 'troops' -a handful of scared but determined villagers armed with farming tools and one rusty old battleaxe that might have been used in the last Blight. True, there was the villages' only hunter, along with the local bowyer and his apprentice, perched up on top of the flimsy stockade that was the only defensive structure they had.

But they were facing at least fifty Darkspawn. Where they had come from, Duncan didn't know, but he guessed that there was an old Dwarven thaig nearby, with access to the surface. What he did know was that he was likely to die here, and though the other Grey Wardens of Ferelden would do their best, they were so few that the loss of one would be a disaster. But he could not and would not leave these people to be slaughtered without at least trying to help.

Then the archers began to fire. Too soon, but it didn't matter, as the Darkspawn charged immediately. A simple raiding party, then. The larger armies and hordes were led by beings of intelligence, who might employ tactics or even complex strategy. These did not, relying on numbers and savagery.

Still, those would be enough. The Darkspawn could sense a Grey Warden even as Duncan could sense them, and they concentrated their efforts on bringing him down. That suited the Warden, who laid about him with sword and dagger to great effect. The archers, he could tell, were doing better than expected, keeping calm and relying on single, well-placed shots rather than a rain of arrows they were too few to make effective. The young woman -the blacksmiths' daughter and apprentice, he recalled -with the battleaxe was also proving redoubtable. She was tall and broad, with the muscles one gets from long hours at the forge, and she swung the axe around her in a figure-of-eight pattern that promised certain death to any Darkspawn that came within its radius. The others picked off the wounded, or ganged up on individuals from behind as they concentrated on the two most dangerous fighters.

It couldn't last, and Duncan could sense the caution growing in the enemy. They were falling back and regrouping. He had no way to take advantage, too few to attack, and when the onslaught renewed, it would be ordered, disciplined and unstoppable.

But then a new element entered the fray, charging in on the flank of the Darkspawn. Two fighters. One a short, stocky figure wielding two swords with consummate skill. The other was tall, very tall, dressed all in black and bearing a massive, black broadsword that sliced through Darkspawn armour as if it were but linen cloth. Among the yells and screams of the shocked Darkspawn, Duncan heard another sound. A wild, near-human howling that seemed to come from the sword itself.

Without further thought, Duncan charged forward, cutting down three of the enemy while they were distracted. But then the last one, dying as it was, grabbed his ankle and brought him down. He rolled over in time to see a Genlock about to stab him. There was a sickening crunch as the battleaxe came down and split its skull. The girl wielding it turned and disembowelled another with a backhanded stroke. Then a strong hand gripped Duncans' arm and hauled him upright. He had a fleeting glimpse of glass-green eyes and a wide, mobile mouth before the fight swept toward them again.

Now, though, the rest of the villagers were storming forward, yelling with a ferocity that was more than half sheer terror, they still came on. Pitchforks and sickles are tools, but in the strong hands of angry and scared farmers, they can also be weapons. It was too much. Expecting an easy victory and feast, the Darkspawn had instead lost over half their number. Facing a dreaded Grey Warden and the unknown sorcery of the Black Sword, they broke, fleeing back the way they had come.

Duncan looked around. A group of older people from the village were coming out toward them. Nearby, the blacksmiths' daughter was sitting on the ground with her axe across her knees. She looked up at him with a grin.

"This axe needs some work, I think!" She said. "Maybe Father will let me get it back in shape, now!"

"What's your name, girl?" Duncan asked.

"Alisoun." She told him. "That was the best afternoon I've ever spent. First time I thought I was doing something worthwhile. I've done myself a disservice, mind! The lads were wary before, they'll be proper scared of me, now!"

Duncan laughed. "Why would they be? You're pretty enough, and you'll be a hero now!"

Alisoun shook her head. "I'm already bigger and stronger than most of 'em! Then last year, one of them put his hand where he shouldn't on a friend of mine. I hit him and he went clean through the tavern wall into the alley. I've not had a suitor since! I'm thinking of joining the Kings' army. Maybe soldiers won't be so scared of a strong woman!"

"The Grey Wardens have use for both smiths and fighters." Duncan told her. "And you'll find men enough to appreciate you there. Something to think about, eh?"

He left her with a thoughtful look on her face, and went to where the strangers were standing, looking out to where the Darkspawn had fled.

"Ho, friends!" He called. "Well met and thanks for your timely aid!"

They turned, and for the first time, he saw the taller mans' face. They were handsome, but clearly Elven, with a long jaw, slanted eyes and pointed ears. However, the man was far taller than any Elf Duncan had ever seen. Elves were, on the whole, shorter and slighter than humans, if taller than Dwarfs. But this man was one of the tallest Duncan had ever met, and though he was slender, his shoulders were broad. His face was white. Not pale, as is often the case with Elves, but stark, chalk white, his long hair, tied back in a ponytail, was white as milk. The eyes that surveyed Duncan coolly were a disturbing crimson. Duncan realised that this was an albino. He had met one such among the chantry priests; a languid, pink-eyed creature admired for her learning but too frail to preach or minister. Yet this was clearly a warrior of some prowess.

His companion was in many ways a complete contrast. Shorter than average, but with disproportionately long legs, he was clearly human. He had pleasantly ugly features, currently stretched in a cheerful grin.

"Well met, indeed"" He said. "We had almost despaired of finding a harbour in this place! The only people we have yet to see fled from us as soon as they saw us! I am Moonglum of Elwher, how are you called?"

"I am Duncan, of the Grey Wardens, protectors of this land. I have not heard of this Elwher, Ser Moonglum, your name and accents are both strange. Does Elwher lie in Orlais or Nevarra, or perhaps in the Empire?"

Moonglum shrugged. "I know none of these places, Ser Duncan. Elwher lies far to the East, one of the oldest of the Young Kingdoms. Where that is in relation to your lands I do not know. We were brought here by sorcerous means and arrived in a wasteland over yonder. Three days it took us to come here.

"I hope there is some reward to be had for our aid today?"

"You came across the Korcari Wilds?" Duncan asked. "No surprise you found no harbour. The Wilder folk are shy, unless in numbers, and would not trouble well-armed strangers.

"As to reward, the people of this village are but poor folk, able to offer no more than a hearty meal and a bed for the night. If you wish gold, what little I carry belongs to my Order. If you were to seek out the Bann or Arl of this region, he might be disposed to give you somewhat for your pains."

"Gold is not important." The albino spoke for the first time, in a rich tenor voice that was at once courteous and cold. His companion shot him an irritated glance, but held his peace. "We have enough for our needs, though a meal and a bed would be welcome.

"I am Elric of Melnibone, and I would know more of those we fought this day."

Duncan shook his head. "I thought all knew of the Darkspawn, Ser Elric! Even the Mage-Lords of the Tevinter Imperium know and fear them."

"Then it is as I thought, Moonglum." Elric said. "This is not our world. It may be that these Tevinter Mages hold the key to our return, and we will seek them out. But for now Ser Duncan, tell me more of these Darkspawn.

"I know the work of Chaos when I see it, as well as that of Law. But those creatures were warped by something more than Chaos. Something fouler, darker, more perverse than anything even my ancestors attempted. The term 'abomination' does not come naturally to a Melnibonean, but that is what these things are."

"Then do not seek the Tevinter, my friend." Duncan told him. "For it was the hubris and corruption of the Empire and its Mages that brought the Darkspawn to the world! The tale is a long one, and would do better over food. Come now, I am sure the villagers wish to thank you, and if I am not mistaken, I smell an ox roasting!"

There was business to be done, first, however. One of the wounded was clearly in worse case than the others. It took Duncan only a moment to see why.

"He must have swallowed Darkspawn blood, or got some into his wounds." He told the boys' family.

"It's the Darkspawn sickness, then?" The mother asked. "My grandmother spoke of it to me. There's no healing, is there?"

"Had I the means, I could make a Grey Warden of him." Duncan allowed. "But there's no guarantee he'd survive the Initiation, even if there were time to bring him somewhere it could be done.

"Let me be clear, the taint is spreading in him. Soon, he will not know you, and will try to escape back to the Darkspawn, and shortly after that, he will die."

"Then do what you must, Ser Warden." The boys' father said heavily. "Let his mother, brothers and sisters remember him as a hero."

Duncan drew his dagger and knelt beside the young man. The boy met his eyes once, nodded, and then closed his own. The stroke was quick, skilled and merciful. Duncan rose to meet the eyes of Alisoun. There were tears in them, but no horror, flinching or blame. She nodded to him once, then turned away in the direction of the smithy.

Then they were called to the Chantry. Mother Severa, a matronly woman in her forties and well-respected by her flock, wished to give thanks to the Maker for their preservation. After the prayers for the dead – only three, Maker be praised – and of thanksgiving, Severa turned from the altar and said. "And now, I think, a small celebration is in order! My nose tells me the ox is almost ready and the bread out of the oven, and my dry throat tells me a cup of ale will not go amiss!"

But as the crowd began to disperse, she made her way over to the two strangers. Eric and Moonglum had remained at the rear of the Chantry, silent and respectful, but had not joined in the prayers. "Good Sers," she said, "I join with the rest of the village in thanks for your aid today. I see that you are unfamiliar with our rites. Do you honour the Maker in a different way in your land? Different from the teachings of Andraste? What are your Chantries like?"

"We have many temples, to many different gods, my lady." Elric told her. "I believe the followers of Lord Donblas the Justice-Maker are called chantries, but I have never been in one. He is a Lord of Law, so more known among the Young Kingdoms."

"Ah!" Severa said. "The Chant of Light tells us that there were once many gods in this world,. But that the Maker cast them out to sleep deep underground. That was before He turned his back on His children until His Chosen Bride, Andraste, earned us the chance for forgiveness."

"Well our world still has many." Moonglum asserted. "And a meddlesome crowd they are! Ser Elric and I have been at pains on more than one occasion to set their mischief aright!"

"You are fortunate, Mother Severa, to have but the one god." Elric told her. "Even more fortunate in that He does not meddle with your lives! I would give much for such a certainty."

She looked into those haunted crimson eyes and knew that here was one to whom the simple comforts of her faith and the promise of Andraste would be of no help or consequence. It saddened her, but her tears would not aid him either.

"Well, Ser Elric, if my prayers cannot comfort you for a while, good food and drink may!" She said. "Whatever our spirits might seek, the needs of the body are always with us, and easier to assuage!"

"It begins in the Fade." Duncan was telling Elric over the simple but hearty fare. Elric, who was hungry and weary, would rather have enjoyed the meal, the music and the dancing. All were simple, coarse by the standards of his princely Melniboean upbringing, but unlike many of his folk, Elric could appreciate such simple merrymaking. But at the same time, he needed to know more of this world, and Duncan clearly felt there was some urgency in the matter.

"The Fade is where our spirits -at least those of humans and Elves -go when we dream." Duncan went on. "It is also the place from where mages draw their powers. But it is a realm of other spirits, some benevolent, other hostile and hungry, anxious for a chance to break into this world and feed on mortals.

"Those who can venture into the Fade when awake, or who can recall and even control their dreams, may learn much there. But they may also be possessed by a demon, a spirit of Hunger, Rage, Sloth or Pride, who will return to Earth in their form and wreak havoc.

"The Chant says that on an island in the centre of the Fade there was once a Golden City, the home of the Maker. But the Mages of the Tevinter Imperium sought to enter that City and make it their own. Thus the Golden City became the Black City, the centre of all corruption.

"The Tevinter mages were cast back to Earth, twisted and tainted, to become the first Darkspawn. The old Tevinter Gods were also cast down, buried deep in the Earth. The Darkspawn search through the bowels of the Earth, seeking these gods, and when they find one, they feed it their own tainted flesh. Thus it becomes corrupted, an Archdemon in dragon form, which causes the Darkspawn to multiply and gather in a horde to sweep over the land. This we call a Blight.

"The first Blight brought all the races to the edge of extinction, until the Grey Wardens were formed. We drink a potion made from the blood of Darkspawn, and those who master the taint become aware of the taint, and gain power against it for a time."

"And you suspect another Blight is coming?" Elric asked.

"Every instinct I have tells me so." Duncan told him. "But surely you can sense it too? You told me you sensed the taint in those Darkspawn, you must also be a Grey Warden, in your own land?"

"Not I." Elric assured him. "There is no such order in my world, for there are no Darkspawn there. But my ancestors were sorcerors, one and all, and I inherited their gifts. I see this taint with the witch-sight of my forebears, but it is a worse corruption than even Chaos can bring. Even Chaos has its plans, its desires, however momentary. These Darkspawn live only to destroy. They hate everything, themselves most of all, and seek only emptiness."

The celebration did not go on late into the night. These were village folk and a day of work awaited them with the dawn, so they went to their beds as the stars began to twinkle. Moonglum had vanished in the company of a comely widow, which surprised Elric not at all. Though he was offered a bed in the small tavern, her preferred to accept Mother Severas' offer of a guest room at the chantry. A small, austere chamber that suited his mood.

Sleep eluded him for a time. He knew that he should be bending all his efforts to returning home, to his own world. But this land, Thedas, it was called, though the country he was currently in was named Ferelden, appealed to him in a way. These simple village folk, under threat from worse monsters than even Chaos could produce, and unprotected by an indifferent god, aroused his sympathy. He wanted to help them.

In this, as in many other matters, Elric was not typical of his arrogant, cruel race. What twist of fate or ancestry had made him this way, he could not decide. Was it the increasing influence of humanity and Law on his world, was he a new thing? Or was he a throwback to a time before the people of Melnibone had become decadent, capricious voluptuaries?

Elric, White Wolf of Melnibone, Elric Kinslayer, Elric the Necromancer – these were titles that had not followed him to Ferelden. Was it possible that here, for a time at least, he could forge a new identity for himself? Create a version of his name not stained with betrayal and murder?

He sighed, these questions were not one to ponder after a long day and a hearty meal! He turned himself, reluctantly, to sleep. Perhaps in this world, his dreams might be less terrible.

He was standing in a strange, barren landscape. Rocks covered with a yellow growth that was neither grass nor moss. Occasional outcroppings of crystal dotted the ground, pulsing with an eerie blue light, among stark, twisted things that might have been trees. In the distance, he saw shapes that might have been either ruined buildings or strange and eroded rock formations.

Elric looked down at himself. He was clad in the black, baroque armour of a Melnibonean noble, he reached up and confirmed that he was wearing the high dragon-crested helm of the Bright Emperors. The Black Sword, _Stormbringer_, hung at his side.

Was he dreaming, or had he been pulled into yet another world? He shrugged and walked forward, along a faint path that led into a narrow valley. As he reached the mid-point, the exit ahead of him suddenly closed, as if the hills and been squeezed together to form a cliff. Looking back, he saw that the way he had come was also sealed. He had been snared, then. By who or what?

There were three of them. One was simply an amorphous mass, as tall as a man, and seemingly made of fire. The second had the shape and face of a beautiful, sensual woman, albeit blue of skin and with long, twisted horns growing form her head. The third was a great bear, larger than any he had seen, and covered with sharp, bony spikes.

"A rare prize." The woman said, in silvery accents. "Rare indeed if even Sloth bestirs himself to the hunt!"

"I was merely curious." The bear observed.

"Enough!" Snarled the flame-thing. "I did not come here to banter with fools!"

"Have a care." Elric told them. "Ill-chosen prey can turn the hunters into the hunted!"

He drew his sword as he spoke, and _Stormbingers'_ usual shout of joy was somehow stronger, fuller in this alien air.

"Hmm." Sloth commented. "A Warrior-Mage, unless I am mistaken. I think I shall watch for now. There may be scraps left afterwards."

"Coward!" The flame-beast snapped. "What of Desire? Does the bodkin scare you as well?"

The woman laughed. "Not I, Rage. But since you are so ready, by all means go first. You will taste no worse than he, should you fail."

Rage simply turned and advanced on Elric. And Elric laughed. And _Stormbringer_ began to sing.

Rage hurled fireballs at Elric, who parried them with his sword. The runesword deflected the missiles easily, but with each attack Elrics' anger grew, and Rage grew also, until he was half again Elrics' height, and each fireball became more powerful. But Elric understood magic, and he suddenly understood where he was. So as the next attack came, he lowered his blade and forced his mind to icy calm. The fireball dispersed against his breastplate, barely warming the metal. Calmly, coolly, without hurry, Elric approached his enemy. Rage howled and hurled fireball after fireball, but none harmed his target and now each one seemed to be drawn from his own substance, so that by the time Elric was in swords' reach, he was once again the size he had been when the fight began.

Again, with deliberate coolness, as if on the practice floor, Elric raised _Stormbringer_ and thrust into the centres of the demons' substance. Rage screamed, the sword howled, a flood of heat, strength and anger came through the sword into Elric and once again he pushed the rage down. The demon collapsed into a small pile of grey ash.

"Oh! Unfair!" Desire cried petulantly. "You devoured him yourself! That is not the rule of the game. Demon and mortal fight. If the demon wins, they possess the mortal and go into the waking world. If the mortal wins, we other demons devour our defeated comrade! What, are you a demon yourself, White One?"

"There are those who say so." Elric told her. "Come, you see my power, and I have no quarrel with you and this other. Go in peace, or face the consequences!"

"Consequences?" She laughed now. "What does true Desire care for consequences?"

She came closer, and as she did so, Elrics' mind filled with images. Images of sensuality, of many forms of erotic enticement. This is what Desire offered, in return for surrender.

Now it was Elrics' turn to laugh. For nothing the demon showed him could compare to the skills, the delights, the ecstasies offered to young Melnibonean nobles by the specially-trained concubines kept to bring them into manhood. Even if it could, there were still other things that could surpass anything Desire offered – his own memories of making love with Cymoril. Love will always overcome mere desire.

Foiled in her attempt to seduce or paralyse him, Desire was forced to attack before she was close enough. Her weapon was a short, slim blade that glowed blue and was cold as ice, and she used it with great speed and skill, seeking a chink in the armour. But she had misjudged both Elrics' skill and his blade. _Stormbringer_ was long and heavy, but its' perfect balance and sorcerous nature allowed the wielder to handle it as deftly as any rapier, and Elric, despite the weakness of his youth, had been trained in subtler swordplay than any human had.

Almost effortlessly, he batted the lighter blade aside and severed Desires' head at a stroke. As the warm, sensuous power of the demon flowed into him, the head rolled away to rest at the feet of Sloth. The bearlike creature leaned down and snapped up the head, then made a sound of disgust.

"You are greedy indeed." He said. "You or your sword, I cannot tell which is in charge, had taken all the flavour. Now I must make shift to deal with you myself. Such a bore."

Sloth did not charge, in the terrifying fashion of a bear. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly toward Elric. As he did so, Elric felt a great lassitude descend upon him. It was not the weakness of his albinism, but something else. An almost unconquerable urge to stop, to give it all up. Why carry on? It only meant more pain, more suffering, more bloodshed. To talk of destiny was foolish, destiny does not seek men, men seek destiny. If he simply stopped, rested, let the world go by, he would find peace, surely.

Elric lowered his sword arm until the point of _Stormbringer_ touched the ground. The hellblade moaned and juddered in his hand, bringing him back to himself a little. What was this? This was Sloth, the very nature of it! How could he counter this? Elric sought within himself, and found the answer. The anger and power he had taken from Rage was still in him, as was the urgency of Desire. Shaping desire into the will to live Elric brought out the rage, and even as Sloth reared above him to crush him to death, Elric acted.

_Stormbringer_ snarled as it swung up to block the claws, slicing off a great paw as it did so. Without pausing, Elric thrust the blade into the belly of the beast. There was a roar of pure despair and hunger, then a great calm settled on Elric, and Sloth was gone.

There was ironic applause from behind him, and a womans' voice. "Bravo, King Elric. Few indeed can triumph against Rage, Desire and Sloth. But I wonder, how would a Melnibonean Emperor fare against Pride?"

Elric turned. The woman standing there was tall and upright, but elderly, with grey hair and a lined face. She wore rough peasant clothes but held herself like a queen.

"But poorly, I fear." He answered. "It is not a contest I would willingly enter, my lady."

"By that answer, you show yourself the more likely to win." She allowed. "But you show no surprise that I know who you are?"

Elric shrugged. "This is the Fade, is it not? If so, I dream. One should not be surprised at aught that occurs in a dream."

"Clever." She replied. "And in your own world, true. But this is the Fade, and you are a Mage, King Elric. For such as you and I, what passes here is as real, if not more so, than what we experience awake. How else is it that yon blade accompanied you here. Does it dream also?"

"It may." Elric pointed out. "The thing is sentient, to what degree I cannot say, and so it may dream. But you I do not know, though I take it you are no figment of mine."

"Not unless your imagination is more twisted than most." She replied. "I am Flemeth, called by some the Witch of the Wilds. Your coming, King Elric, sent a shudder through the Fade, and while the timorous dabblers in the Circles sit and debate its meaning, I came to find you.

"There are things I know that they do not, for I have lived longer and ventured further than any of them. Your coming here was unexpected, and that will be troublesome. There are rules that must be kept to, else the whole will disintegrate, the structure of a myriad realities is a delicate thing. So you must return whence you came, and soon. If you do not, Others will come to take you back. Others whom you will not wish to face, they cannot be denied or avoided. That itself will cause much disruption.

"Now listen! My time is short, there are things I must be about, lest the Blight swallow us all. That which you need is closer than you suppose. Follow your first instinct, Duncan is a worthy man and in helping him you will help yourself."

"I would rather do this alone." Elric admitted. "Duncan is, as you say, a worthy man, and could be my friend. But it is my fate to bring evil upon my friends."

"Nonsense!" Flemeth snapped. "This is not your world, King Elric, and your doom does not matter here. That is why you must return, but it will also be your salvation here.

"I must go, but I have some little power here. When you truly sleep, your dreams will be kinder than their wont.

"One last thing. Should the opportunity arise, tell Duncan that he will find what he seeks at Highever Castle.

"Farewell, King Elric."

_He dreamed of a world where warrior-mystics fought with swords of coloured light, and saw a young man and his doomed father defeat a tyrant._

_He dreamed of an ancient castle where a young wizard with fierce green eyes and a scar on his forehead duelled with a Dark Lord and won the freedom of his world._

_He dreamed of a fair land where an old wizard, a small creature of the woods and fields, and a descendant of Kings joined forces to bring down an ancient evil._

_He saw a sick, bitter, lonely man make the choice to save a world he thought a dream, and in doing so give his waking life new meaning._

_He saw a soldier in a world where men flew between the stars in swift ships, and mixed with other races that were not human. He dreamed that the soldier built a great alliance among these disparate folk to defeat an armada of giant machines that would devour all in their path._

_He dreamed of a blue box that flew across all of Space and Time, and brought hope wherever it went._

He woke the next day rested, with his mind less troubled. For a while.


End file.
